CLASSICS  OF  CONFUCIUS 

1  iNWERSn*-   L1BR/^Y   ialiflo 
I  be  CALIFOKMA.  SAN  tt« 


BOOK  OF  ODES 

(SHI-KING) 


I     LIBRARY 

UNIVEKSITYOF 
CALIFORNIA 

!       SAN  DIEGO      j 


ZCbe  TWUsfcom  of  tbe  Bast  Seviea 

EDITED  BY 

L.   CRANMER-BYNQ 

Dr.  S.   A.   KAPADIA 


THE  CLASSICS  OF  CONFUCIUS 

BOOK     OF     ODES 


FIRST  EDITION        .        .         .     February,  1905 
Reprinted        ....     April,  1906 
SECOND  EDITION  .        .        .    January,  1908 


WISDOM  OF  THE  EAST 

THE  ODES  OF 
CONFUCIUS 

BY  L.  CRANMER-BYNG 

AUTHOR  OF  "THE  NEVER-ENDING  WRONG," 

AND  OTHER  RENDERINGS   FROM   THE  CHINESE 


NEW  YORK 

E.   P.   DUTTON   AND  COMPANY 

1908 


EDITORIAL  NOTE 


object  of  the  editors  of  this  series  is  a 
-L  very  definite  one.  They  desire  above  all 
things  that,  in  their  humble  way,  these  books 
shall  be  the  ambassadors  of  good-will  and 
understanding  between  East  and  West,  the  old 
world  of  Thought,  and  the  new  of  Action.  In 
this  endeavour,  and  in  their  own  sphere,  they 
are  but  followers  of  the  highest  example  in  the 
land.  They  are  confident  that  a  deeper  know- 
ledge of  the  great  ideals  and  lofty  philosophy 
of  Oriental  thought  may  help  to  a  revival  of 
that  true  spirit  of  Charity  which  neither  despises 
nor  fears  the  nations  of  another  creed  and 
colour.  Finally,  in  thanking  press  and  public 
for  the  very  cordial  reception  given  to  the 
"  Wisdom  of  the  East "  series,  they  wish  to  state 
that  no  pains  have  been  spared  to  secure  the 
best  specialists  for  the  treatment  of  the  various 
subjects  at  hand. 

L.   CRANME 

S.  A.  KAPADIA» 

NOBTHBROOK   SOCIETY, 

185  PICCADILLY,  W. 


INTROD  UCTION 

"  T  T  T  HILE  reading  the  works  of  Confucius,  I  have 
VV  always  fancied  I  could  see  the  man  as  he 
was  in  life,  and,  when  I  went  to  Shantung,  I  actually 
beheld  his  carriage,  his  robes,  and  the  material  parts 
of  his  ceremonial  usages.  There  were  his  descend- 
ants practising  the  old  rites  in  their  ancestral  home  ; 
and  I  lingered  on,  unable  to  tear  myself  away.  Many 
are  the  princes  and  prophets  that  the  world  has 
seen  in  its  time  ;  glorious  in  life,  forgotten  in  death. 
But  Confucius,  though  only  a  humble  member  of  the 
cotton-clothed  masses,  remains  among  us  after  many 
generations.  He  is  the  model  for  such  as  would  be 
wise.  By  all,  from  the  Son  of  Heaven  down  to  the 
meanest  student,  the  supremacy  of  his  principles  is 
fully  and  freely  admitted.  He  may,  indeed,  be  pro- 
nounced the  divinest  of  men."  * 

This  is  the  tribute  of  Ssu-Ma  Ch'ien,  the  author  of 
the  first  great  History  of  China,  who  lived  in  the  first 
century  before  Christ.  Many  centuries  have  gone 
since  the  old  historian,  out  of  the  fulness  of  his  heart, 
sang  the  praises  of  the  Master  and  the  supremacy  of 
his  principles.  To-day,  as  a  thousand  years  ago,  the 
school  children  take  their  first  serious  instruction 
from  the  five  books,  or  King  as  they  are  called  in 
Chinese  : — 

*  "  Gems  of  Chinese  Literature,"  by  Herbert  Giles  (Quaritch). 
5 


The  Shu  King,  or  Book  of  History ;  The  I  King, 
or  Book  of  Changes  ;  The  Shi  King,  or  Book 
of  Poetry;  The  Li  Chi,  or  Book  of  Rites; 
The  Ch'un  Ch'in,  or  Annals  of  Spring  and 
Autumn. 

The  Shi  King,  or  Book  of  Poetry,  from  which  these 
poems  are  rendered  through  the  prose  translations 
of  Professor  Legge  in  his  great  series  of  Chinese 
classics,  was  compiled  by  Confucius  about  500  B.C. 
from  earlier  collections  which  had  been  long  existent, 
two  of  which,  we  know  from  an  ode  written  about 
780  B.C.,  were  called  Ya  and  Nan  respectively.  The 
oldest  of  these  odes  belong  to  the  Shang  dynasty, 
1765-1122  B.C.  ;  the  latest  to  the  time  of  King  Ting, 
605-585  B.C.  The  odes  may  be  roughly  divided  into 
two  classes  : — (i)  The  Songs  of  the  People  ;  (2)  The 
Official  Odes.  Professor  Giles,  in  his  "History  of 
Chinese  Literature"  (Heinemann),  divides  the  latter 
into  three  classes  : — (a)  Odes  sung  at  ordinary  enter- 
tainments given  by  the  suzerain ;  (b)  Odes  sung  on 
grand  occasions  when  the  feudal  nobles  were  gathered 
together  ;  (c)  Panegyrics  and  sacrificial  odes. 

The  great  importance  that  Confucius  placed  upon 
the  Book  of  Poetry  may  be  gathered  from  the  follow- 
ing anecdote  : — One  day  his  son  Le  was  passing 
hurriedly  through  the  Court,  when  he  met  his  father 
standing  alone  lost  in  thought.  Confucius,  on  seeing 
his  son,  addressed  him  thus — 

"  Have  you  read  the  Odes  ?  " 

He  replied,  "Not  yet." 

"Then,"  said  Confucius,  "  if  you  do  not  learn  the 
Odes,  you  will  not  be  fit  to  converse  with."* 

*  «« Confucianism  and  Taoism,"  by  Sir  Robert  Douglas  (S.K.C.K.) 

6 


To  understand  this,  we  must  know  something  ot 
the  character  and  teachings  of  Confucius.  William 
Morris  was  to  some  extent  the  Confucius  of  his 
age.  Both  men  dreamt  of  a  golden  past — a  past 
brilliant  with  heroic  deeds,  mellowed  with  peace, 
and  serene  beneath  the  first  clear  dawn  of  ancient 
wisdom.  Both  drew  inspiration  from  the  unstained 
springs  of  poetry.  Morris  went  back  to  the  sagas 
of  the  North  and  the  tales  and  tragedies  of  the  early 
Greeks ;  Confucius  to  the  odes  and  ballads  of  his 
own  country.  For  Morris,  "the  idle  singer  of  an 
empty  day,"  the  world  had  grown  old  and  careworn 
and  unheroic.  Confucius,  too,  was  born  out  of  his 
due  time.  The  world — his  world  of  petty  princelings 
and  court  intriguers  and  oppression — was  not  ripe 
for  the  great  gospel  of  humanity  he  had  come  to 
preach.  Each  failed  lamentably  in  politics,  and 
succeeded  elsewhere :  Confucius  as  the  transmitter 
of  the  wisdom  of  the  ages,  the  revealer  of  human 
goodness  through  conduct  and  knowledge  ;  William 
Morris  as  the  inspired  prophet  of  beauty,  the  teacher 
of  good  taste  to  the  hideous  Victorian  age  in  which 
he  was  born.  When  the  dogmas  and  economics 
of  his  socialism  are  forgotten,  this  influence  will 
remain. 

Lastly,  and  perhaps  greatest  parallel  of  all,  both 
passionately  loved  the  people.  Confucius,  when 
asked  how  the  superior  man  attained  his  position, 
said  :  "  He  cultivates  himself  so  as  to  bring  rest 
unto  the  people."  Again  he  said:  "To  govern  a 
country  of  a  thousand  chariots,  there  must  be 
reverent  attention  to  business,  and  faithfulness, 

7 


economy  in  expenditure,  and  love  for  the  people. " 
Both  recognised,  as  all  great  men  must,  that  there 
is  more  to  be  learnt  from  the  natural  man,  the  man 
who  lives  next  to  nature,  and  through  his  toil  knows 
something  of  her  ways  and  moods,  than  the  artificial 
mime  of  ancient  court  or  modern  drawing-room.  It 
was  through  the  Odes  that  Confucius  taught  his 
own  generation  to  understand  the  manners  and 
customs  and  the  simple  feelings  of  the  men  of  old. 
Here  are  no  great  poems  written  by  highly  cultivated 
men,  but  songs  that  came  naturally  from  the  hearts 
of  all,  concerning  their  little  troubles,  their  hopes 
and  fears,  the  business  in  which  they  were  engaged. 
The  farmer  sings  of  his  husbandry. 

He  gives  us  this  picture  of  the  workers  over  the 
land  coming  to  clear  the  virgin  soil  of  the  grass  and 
brushwood  that  cover  it.  "There  they  go  in 
thousands,  two  and  two,  side  by  side,  tearing  the 
roots  out  of  the  soil ;  some  to  the  marshlands,  some 
where  the  dry  paths  wind  through  the  meadows,  and 
some  by  the  river  banks.  There  is  the  master 
inspecting  all,  with  his  sons  ready  at  hand,  followed 
by  their  households ;  there  also  are  the  neighbours 
who  have  come  to  help ;  there  the  hired  servants. 
Now  the  feast  has  begun,  sounds  of  revelry  are 
heard  ;  the  husbands'  hearts  are  full  of  love  as  they 
sit  with  their  wives  by  their  side.  Now  they  begin 
again  patiently  to  prepare  the  southern  lands, 
breaking  the  soil  with  the  ploughshare.  Many  kinds 
of  grain  they  sow ;  soon  strange  life  will  arise  from 
every  ear,  when  the  young  blades  raise  their  heads 
from  the  ground.  See  the  young  blades  arise  in  long 

8 


unbroken  lines  that  day  by  day  grow  and  spear 
before  us.  Fertile  is  the  swelling  seed,  and  through 
it  go  the  labourers  who  weed  it  over  and  over  again. 
A  little  while  and  the  reapers  have  come  ;  the  golden 
grain  is  stacked  high,  the  straw  innumerable  is 
multiplied.  There  is  sufficient  to  make  the  spirits 
glad,  to  offer  to  the  shades  of  our  fathers,  and 
yield  whatever  the  rites  require  ;  sufficiency  for  the 
kings  and  nobles  to  give  mighty  banquets,  when  at 
the  fragrant  feast  both  host  and  guest  sit  down 
together ;  there  is  enough  when  the  feast  is  over  to 
satisfy  the  aged  poor  and  cheer  them  with  a  never- 
ending  abundance.  Not  now  alone,  but  from  all 
time  and  in  all  lands,  the  earth  repays  a  thousand- 
fold to  those  who  toil." 

Such  is  the  song  of  husbandry  three  thousand  years 
ago.  What  joyousness  is  here  !  What  scenes  of 
peace  and  simple  festival  of  family  love  and  delight 
in  the  land ! 

Again  some  officer  in  the  days  of  good  King  Wan, 
galloping  along  a  clear  road  on  the  king's  service, 
hammers  out  the  splendid  galloping  song,  called 
"  King's  Messenger,"  in  the  present  book,  to  the 
beat  of  his  galloping  horses'  hoofs.  No  such  poem 
was  elaborated  in  garden  or  grove  where  the  poets 
clustered,  and  drank,  and  sang.  It  comes  straight 
from  the  heart  of  this  nameless  envoy  of  old,  fiercely 
exulting  in  his  own  untiring  energy  and  in  the 
mettle  of  his  splendid  steeds.  How  many  of  these 
poems  declare  the  joys  of  work  bravely  attempted — 
bravely  done  !  These  little  sagas  of  blood  and  brain 
can  teach  us  more  of  life  than  all  the  threadbare 

9 


moralities  which  s»erve  as  poetry  in  the  modern  day. 
How  modern  they  are  !  Yes,  indeed !  as  long  as 
colour  is  colour,  and  life  is  life.  As  long  as  youth 
with  its  sublime  folly  will  wait  all  night  for  the 
tryst  that  is  never  kept,  these  poems,  the  earliest 
collection  of  secular  songs  we  know,  will  remain 
fresh  and  charm  us  to  the  end.  These  old  writers, 
viewing  nature  at  first  hand  and  not  through  the 
medium  of  any  books,  wrote  faithfully  of  what  they 
felt  and  saw. 

"With  what  delight  does  the  eye  wander  over  the 
surrounding  landscape  !  Very  gently  the  river  glides 
along  through  the  plain,  which  it  makes  beautiful 
with  the  long  canal  formed  by  its  waters.  To  the 
south  rise  great  mountains  in  the  shape  of  an 
amphitheatre,  while,  on  the  further  bank,  reeds  and 
pines,  covered  with  a  never-fading  verdure,  invite 
the  fresh  breath  of  the  cooling  winds.  Happy 
places  !  those  who  dwell  in  you  live  like  brothers. 
Never  is  the  voice  of  discord  heard  among  you. 
What  glory  shall  be  yours !  The  prince,  whose 
heritage  you  are,  hath  chosen  you  for  his  abode. 
Already  is  the  plan  of  his  palace  formed  ;  proud  walls 
arise,  and  grand  terraces  are  building  on  the  east 
and  west.  Haste  to  come,  great  prince !  O  haste 
to  come ;  sports  and  pleasure  wait  upon  thy  coming. 
The  solid  foundations,  which  are  now  being  laid 
with  redoubled  strokes  of  the  hammer,  display  thy 
wisdom.  Neither  rains  nor  storms  shall  ever 
prevail  against  them.  Never  shall  the  insect  which 
creeps  or  walks  penetrate  thy  habitation.  The 
guard  who  watches  is  sometimes  surprised,  the 

10 


swiftest  dart  may  err,  the  frightened  pigeon  forgets 
the  use  of  its  wings,  and  the  pheasant  with 
difficulty  flies  before  the  eagle ;  but  before  thee 
every  obstacle  vanishes.  With  what  majesty  do 
these  colonnades  rear  their  fronts !  How  immense 
are  those  halls  !  Lofty  columns  support  the  ceiling, 
the  brightness  of  the  day  illuminates  them  and  pene- 
trates them  on  all  sides.  It  is  here  that  my  prince 
reposes ;  it  is  here  that  he  sleeps,  upon  long  mats 
woven  with  great  art." 

Often  the  song  is  one  that  only  a  woman  could 
have  sung.  Some  lady  of  the  harem  of  King  Wan 
praises  the  queen,  who  is  never  jealous  of  the  inferior 
wives,  but  cherishes  them  as  some  great  tree 
cherishes  the  creepers  that  gather  round  it.  Again, 
"the  ripe  plums  are  falling  from  the  bough;  only 
seven-tenths  of  them  remain !  If  any  desire  to 
marry  me,  now  has  the  fortunate  time  arrived  !  " 
In  the  second  verse  only  three-tenths  are  left ;  in  the 
third  she  had  gathered  them  all  into  her  basket :  the 
lover  has  only  to  speak  the  word,  and  she  will  be  his. 
Many  of  these  odes  are  undoubtedly  the  work  of 
women.  The  European  idea  that  Chinese  women 
are,  and  always  have  been,  the  closely  prisoned 
slaves  of  their  husbands,  idle  and  soulless  and 
ignorant,  has  been  dispelled  by  Professor  Giles  in 
his  interesting  "Chinese  Sketches"  published  by 
Kegan,  Paul  &  Co.  "In  novels,  for  instance,"  he 
writes,  "the  heroine  is  always  highly  educated — 
composes  finished  verses,  and  quotes  from  Confucius  ; 
and  it  is  only  fair  to  suppose  that  such  characters 
are  not  purely  and  wholly  ideal.  Besides,  most 

ii 


young  Chinese  girls  whose  parents  are  well  off  are 
taught  to  read.  ..."  According  to  Legge,  there 
was  more  freedom  of  movement  allowed  to  women 
in  the  days  when  the  odes  were  written  and  collected, 
before  the  custom  of  cramping  the  feet  was  intro- 
duced ;  consequently  their  minds  were  more  able  to 
expand  from  contact  with  the  outer  world,  and 
better  fitted  for  literary  tasks.  The  names  of  the 
ladies  Pan-Chieh-Yu  and  Fang  Wei-I  are  well  known 
to  every  student  of  Chinese  literature. 

Perhaps  the  great  importance  of  the  odes,  first 
grasped  by  Confucius,  and  afterwards  by  the  whole 
of  China,  lies  in  the  fact  that  they  are  no  mere 
abstract  creations  of  an  imaginative  brain.  Each 
one  of  these  nameless  poets  writes  about  himself  or 
herself;  their  sorrows,  their  aspirations,  their  out- 
look on  their  own  times,  contented  or  gloomy,  are 
all  chronicled  herein.  In  the  official  odes  we  see 
the  feudal  princes  coming  to  town  to  greet  their 
sovereign  lord.  The  state-carriages  with  their  four- 
horse  teams  have  gone  to  greet  them.  What  gifts 
has  the  king  to  bestow  on  those  he  delights  to 
honour?  Bring  forth  the  dark-coloured  robes 
embroidered  with  the  dragon,  and  the  silken  skirts 
with  the  hatchet  design  upon  them.  See,  they  are 
coming,  you  may  tell  by  the  dragon  flags  that  wave 
before  them — coming,  by  the  hwuy-hwuy  sound  of  the 
bells  that  reaches  us.  By  the  bright  red  buskins 
that  cover  the  knees  we  know  them.  These  are  the 
princes  ! 

No  great  poetry  to  be  sure !  no  monolith  of  in- 
spired travail  by  a  giant  race  that  may  stand  alone 

12 


in  the  time-deserted  regions  of  sand  and  silence ! 
These  are  just  the  natural  song's  that  float  upward 
from  the  happy  valleys  and  down  the  sedge-strewn 
banks  of  the  wandering  K'e.  Above  all,  they  are 
naive  and  bright  as  on  their  birthday,  with  that  most 
precious  quality  of  truth  and  unconscious  art  which 
never  lets  them  tarnish  or  fade.  The  king  is  very 
wicked !  The  poor  groom  of  the  Chamber  to  His 
Majesty  gives  vent  to  his  sorrow  in  song.  He  lets 
you  know  all  about  it.  The  royal  naughtiness  stands 
clearly  revealed,  not  by  any  calico-tearing  epithets 
such  as  a  modern  poet  affrights  the  ears  of  a  Sultan 
with,  but  just  a  gentle  bland  admonishment,  a  little 
dirge  of  political  desolation  and  the  knell  of  a  falling 
dynasty. 

I  have  put,  or  tried  to  put,  these  poems  back  into 
poetry.  Four  of  these  pieces  have  been  exquisitely 
rendered  by  my  friend  Mr  Allen  Upward,  and  speak 
for  themselves.*  As  regards  my  own  reasons  for 
rendering  Chinese  poetry  into  English  verse,  I  am 
content  to  shelter  myself  behind  the  great  authority 
and  judgment  of  Sir  John  Davis,  who,  in  his  "  Poetry 
of  the  Chinese,"  contends  that  "verse  must  be  the 
shape  into  which  Chinese,  as  well  as  other  poetry, 
must  be  converted,  in  order  to  do  it  mere  justice." 
I  will,  however,  take  the  opportunity  of  saying,  in 
conclusion,  that  the  great  literatures  of  the  world 
have  been  too  long  in  the  hands  of  mere  scholars,  to 
whom  the  letter  has  been  all-important  and  the  spirit 

*  Namely  :— "  The  Prayer  of  Ching,"  p.  25  ;  "  Through  Eastern 
Gates,"  p.  30  ;  "  The  Pear-Tree,"  p.  34  ;  "Blue  Collar,"  p.  39. 

'3 


nothing.  The  time  has  come  when  the  literary  man 
should  stand  forth  and  claim  his  share  in  the  revela- 
tion of  truth  and  beauty  from  other  lands  and 
peoples  whom  our  invincible  European  ignorance 
has  taught  us  to  despise. 

L.  CRANMER-BYNG. 


THE  DESERTED  WIFE 

YOU  came — a  simple  lad 
In  dark  blue  cotton  clad, 
To  barter  serge  for  silken  wear ; 
But  not  for  silk  you  dallied  there. 
Ah  !  was  it  not  for  me 
Who  led  you  through  the  K'e, 
Who  guided  you 
To  far  Tun-K'ew? 

"  It  is  not  I  who  would  put  off  the  day  ; 
But  you  have  none  your  cause  to  plead," 
I  said, — "O  love,  take  heed, 
When  the  leaves  fall  do  with  me  what  you  may.' 


I  saw  the  red  leaves  fall, 

And  climbed  the  ruined  wall, 

Towards  the  city  of  Fuh-kwan 

I  did  the  dim  horizon  scan.  + 

"  He  cometh  not,"  I  said, 

And  burning  tears  were  shed : 

You  came — I  smiled, 

Love — reconciled, 

You  said,  "  By  taper  reed  and  tortoise-shell, 

I  have  divined,  and  all,  O  love,  is  well." 

'5 


"Then  haste  the  car,"  I  cried, 

"Gather  my  goods  and  take  me  to  thy  side." 

Before  the  mulberry  tree 

With  leaves  hath  strewn  the  lea, 

How  glossy-green  are  they  !  how  rare ! 

Ah  !  thou  young  thoughtless  dove  beware ! 

Avoid  the  dark  fruit  rife 

With  sorrow  to  thy  life. 

And  thou,  whose  fence 

Is  innocence, 

Seek  no  sweet  pleasuring  with  any  youth  ! 

For  when  a  man  hath  sinned,  but  little  shame 

Is  fastened  to  his  name, 

Yet  erring  woman  wears  the  garb  of  ruth. 

When  the  lone  mulberry  tree 

With  leaves  bestrews  the  lea, 

They  yellow  slowly,  slowly  down 

From  green  to  gold,  from  gold  to  brown. 

Three  sombre  years  ago 

I  fled  with  you,  and  lo, 

The  floods  of  K'e 

Now  silently 

Creep  to  the  curtains  of  my  little  car. 

Through  cloud  and  gloom  I  was  your  constant 

star; 

Now  you  have  gone  from  sight, 
And  love's  white  star  roams  aimleis   through 

the  night. 

16 


For  three  long  years  your  wife, 

Toil  was  my  part  in  life, 

Early  from  sleep  I  rose  and  went 

About  my  labour,  calm,  content ; 

Nor  any  morn  serene 

Lightened  the  dull  routine. 

Early  and  late, 

I  was  your  mate, 

Bearing  the  burdens  that  were  yours  to  share. 

Fain  of  the  little  love  that  was  my  lot, 

Ah,  kinsmen  scorn  me  not ! 

How  should  ye  know  when  silence  chills  despair? 

Old  we  should  grow  in  accord, 

Old — and  grief  is  my  lord. 

Between  her  banks  the  K'e  doth  steer, 

And  pine-woods  ring  the  lonely  mere. 

In  pleasant  times  I  bound 

My  dark  hair  to  the  sound 

Of  whispered  vows 

'Neath  lilac  boughs, 

And  little  recked  o'er  broken  faith  to  weep. 

Now  the  grey  shadows  o'er  the  marshland  creep  : 

The  willows  stir  and  fret : 

Low  in  the  west  the  dull  dun  sun  hath  set 


KINGS  MESSENGER 


ALLOPING,  galloping,  gallant  steed; 
VJT     Six  reins  slackened  and  dull  with  sweat, 
Galloping,  galloping  still  we  speed, 
Seeking,  counselling,  onward  set. 

Galloping,  galloping,  piebald  steed  ; 
Six  reins,  silken  reins,  start  and  strain, 
Galloping,  galloping,  still  we  speed, 
News — what  news — from  the  King's  domain. 

Galloping,  galloping,  white  and  black  ; 
Six  reins  glossy  and  flaked  with  foam, 
Galloping,  galloping,  look  not  back  ! 
On  for  the  King — for  the  King  we  roam. 

Galloping,  galloping,  dappled  grey ; 
Six  reins  true  to  the  hand  alone, 
Galloping,  galloping,  night  and  day, 
Seeking,  questioning,  galloping,  gone  ! 


FLIGHT 


COLD  and  keen  the  north  wind  blows, 
Silent  falls  the  shroud  of  snows. 
You  who  gave  me  your  heart 
Let  us  join  hands  and  depart ! 
Is  this  a  time  for  delay  ? 
Now,  while  we  may, 
Let  us  away. 

Wailingly  the  north  wind  goes, 
Wailing  through  a  whirl  of  snows. 
You  who  gave  me  your  heart 
Let  us  join  hands  and  depart ! 
Is  this  a  time  for  delay  ? 
Now,  while  we  may, 
Let  us  away. 

Only  the  lonely  fox  is  red, 
Black  but  the  crow-flight  overhead. 
You  who  gave  me  your  heart, 
The  chariot  creaks  to  depart, 
Is  this  a  time  for  delay  ? 
Now,  while  we  may, 
Let  us  away. 


THE  TOWER  OF  WAN 

a 

T  "\  7  AN  drew  a  tower  of  bold  ascent, 

V  V       A  tower  of  lofty  size. 
In  crowds  the  zealous  builders  went, 
The  walls  began  to  rise. 

"  Haste  not,"  said  he,  when  first  the  work  began  ; 
But  all  the  people  were  as  sons  of  Wan. 

The  King  was  in  the  wondrous  park, 

The  does  so  sleek  and  brown 

Lay  couched  in  fern  ;  from  dawn  to  dark 

White  birds  came  glistening  down ; 

The  King  was  by  the  pond  whose  waters  hold 

A  thousand  carp  with  ruddy  scales  of  gold. 

Upon  his  posts  the  fretted  board 

Is  hung  with  drums  and  bells  ; 

What  music  chimes  from  their  accord, 

What  sound  of  laughter  swells 

From  the  pavilion  of  the  circling  pool 

Where  joy  and  Wan,  the  brother  monarchs,  rule 

What  harmony  of  bells  and  drums  ! 

What  call  of  drums  and  bells  ! 

Beyond  the  flaming  water  comes 

What  sound  of  happy  spells. 

The  blind  musicians  blind  us  with  delight ; 

While  the  deep  lizard  drums  roll  on  till  night. 


DRIFTING 

TWO  youths  into  their  boats  descend, 
Whose  shadows  on  the  waters  sway  ; 
Ah  !  light  hearts  bravely  sped  away, 
My  heavy  heart  forbodes  the  end. 

Two  youths  into  their  boats  descend, 
Two  lives  go  drifting  far  from  me  ; 
Between  the  willow  glooms  I  see 
Death  lurking  at  the  river's  bend. 


THE  SLANDERERS 


r  I  ^HE  blue  flies  buzz  upon  the  wing-, 

_L       From  fence  to  fence  they  wander  ; 
O  happy  King!  O  courteous  King! 
Give  heed  to  no  man's  slander. 

The  noisy  blue  flies  rumble  round, 
Upon  the  gum-trees  lighting  ; 
A  tongue  of  evil  hath  no  bound, 
And  sets  the  realm  a-fighting. 

The  clumsy  blue  flies  buzzing  round 
Upon  the  hazels  blunder  ; 
O  cursed  tongue  that  knows  no  bound, 
And  sets  us  two  asunder. 


LOVE  AND  THE  MAGISTRATE 


WHEN  the  great  carriage  rumbles  by, 
I  see  him  in  his  robes  of  state, 
Calm,  pitiless,  sedate. 
Man  of  the  cold  far-piercing  eye, 

0  but  I  long  for  you, 

Right  for  you,  wrong  for  you, 

Naught  could  keep  us  apart, 

But  the  cold  eye  reading  my  heart. 

When  the  great  carriage  rumbles  on, 
In  robes  of  state  carnation  red 

1  see  the  man  of  dread, 

Bright  gleaming  robes  and  glance  of  stone, 

O  then  I  long  for  you, 

Right  for  you,  wrong  for  you, 

Naught  could  keep  us  apart 

But  the  cold  eye  reading  my  heart. 

Together  we  may  never  bide, 

Nor  you  and  me  one  roof  contain, 

But  death  shall  not  divide  ; 

The  same  close  grave  shall  wed  the  twain. 

Say  !   am  I  cold  to  you  ? 

Nay !  I  will  hold  to  you, 

By  the  bright  sun  I  swear, 

O  my  life,  my  love,  my  despair. 


CITY  OF  CHOW 


from  the  spring  the  waters  pass 
v_x     Over  the  waving  pampas  grass. 
All  night  long  in  dream  I  lie, 
Ah  me  !  ah  me  !  to  awake  and  sigh — 
Sigh  for  the  City  of  Chow. 

Cold  from  the  spring  the  rising  flood 
Covers  the  tangled  southernwood. 
All  night  long  in  dream  I  lie, 
Ah  me  !  ah  me  !  to  awake  and  sigh — 
Sigh  for  the  City  of  Chow. 

Cold  from  its  source  the  stream  meanders, 
Darkly  down  through  the  oleanders. 
All  night  long  in  dream  I  lie, 
Ah  me  !  ah  me  !  to  awake  and  sigh — 
Sigh  for  the  City  of  Chow. 


THE  PR  A  YER  OF  THE  EMPEROR  CHING 

LET  me  be  reverent,  be  reverent, 
Even  as  the  way  of  Heaven  is  evident, 
And  its  appointment  easy  is  to  mar. 

Let  me  not  say,  "  It  is  too  high  above," 
Above  us  and  below  us  doth  it  move, 
And  daily  watches  wheresoe'er  we  are. 

It  is  but  as  a  little  child  I  ask, 

Without  intelligence  to  do  my  task, 

Yet  learning,  month  by  month,  and  day  by  day, 

I  will  hold  fast  some  gleams  of  knowledge  bright. 
Help  me  to  bear  my  heavy  burden  right, 
And  show  me  how  to  walk  in  wisdom's  way. 


II 

THE  PRA  YER  OF  THE  EMPEROR  CHING 


VEN  as  a  little  helpless  child  am  I, 

J /     On  whom  hath  fallen  the  perplexed  affairs 

Of  this  unsettled  state.     High  loneliness 
And  sorrow  are  my  portion.    Thou  great  Father, 
Thou  kingly  pattern  of  parental  awe, 
Whose  mind  for  ever  in  the  courts  beheld, 
Roaming,  the  royal  image  of  thy  sire, 
Night  long  and  day  long,  I — the  little  child — 
Will  so  be  reverent. 


O  ye  great  kings  ! 

Your  crowned  successor  crowns  you  in  his  heart. 
Live  unforgotten.     Here,  upon  the  verge 
Of  the  momentous  years,  I  pause  and  trace 
The  shining  footsteps  of  my  forefathers, 
And  the  far-distant  goal  that  drew  them  on — 
Too  distant  for  my  range.     Howe'er  resolved 
I  may  go  forward,  lo  !  a  thousand  tracks 
Cause  me  to  swerve  aside.     A  little  child — 
Only  a  little  child — I  am  too  frail 
To  cope  with  the  anxieties  of  state 
And  cares  of  king-craft.     Yet  I  will  ascend 


Into  my  Father's  room,  and  through  the  courts 
Below,  for  ever  seeking,  I  will  pass, 
To  brush  the  skirts  of  inspiration 
And  touch  the  sleeves  of  memory. 

O  great 

And  gracious  Father,  hear  and  condescend 
To  guard,  to  cherish,  to  enlighten  me. 


MA  YTIME 


DEEP  in  the  grass  there  lies  a  dead  gazelle, 
The  tall  white  grass  enwraps  her  where 

she  fell. 

With  sweet  thoughts  natural  to  spring, 
A  pretty  girl  goes  wandering 
With  lover  that  would  lead  astray. 

The  little  dwarf  oaks  hide  a  leafy  dell, 
Far  in  the  wilds  there  lies  a  dead  gazelle ; 
The  tall  white  grass  enwraps  her  where  she  fell, 

And  beauty,  like  a  gem,  doth  fling 

Bright  radiance  through  the  blinds  of  spring. 

"Ah,  gently  !  do  not  disarray 

My  kerchief !  gently,  pray ! 

Nor  make  the  watch-dog  bark 

Under  my  lattice  dark." 


LADY  OF  THE  LAGOON 

BY  the  shores  of  that  lagoon, 
Where  the  water-lily  lies, 
Where  the  tall  valerians  rise 
Slender  as  the  crescent  moon, 
Goes  He'a  Nan  .  .  .  Ah,  He'a  Nan, 
Sleep  brings  me  no  relief: 
My  heart  is  full  of  grief. 

By  the  shores  of  that  lagoon, 
Where  the  drowsy  lotus  lies, 
Where  the  tall  valerians  rise 
Brighter  than  the  orbed  moon, 
Shines  He'a  Nan  .  .  .  Ah,  He'a  Nan, 
I  turn  and  turn  all  night, 
And  dawn  brings  no  respite. 


THROUGH  EASTERN  GATES 

THROUGH  eastern  gates  I  wandered  far, 
Where  cloud-like  beauties  thronged  the  way  ; 
Although  like  clouds  their  faces  are, 
My  thoughts  among  them  would  not  stay. 
She  in  rough  silk  and  kerchief  blue 
Gave  me  the  only  joy  I  knew. 

I  wandered  by  the  curtain  tower, 
Like  flowering  rushes  were  the  maids  ; 
Although  they  match  the  rushes'  flower, 
Soon  from  my  mind  their  beauty  fades. 
In  humble  silk  and  madder  dye, 
She  fills  my  heart  with  ecstasy. 


THE  STRAGGLER 


is  that  little  oriole 
JL       At  rest  where  the  mound  doth  rise  ; 
Oh,  but  the  way  is  long, 
Long-  that  before  me  lies. 
There  is  no  rest  for  me, 
None  for  my  tired  feet  ; 
Give  me  to  drink  and  eat, 
Do  what  is  best  for  me. 
Order  an  ambulance  car, 
And  carry  me,  carry  me  on. 

There  is  that  little  oriole 

At  rest  where  the  mound  doth  bend  ; 

Oh,  but  I  know  no  fear 

Save  if  the  march  will  end. 

There  is  no  rest  for  me, 

None  for  my  tired  feet  ; 

Give  me  to  drink  and  eat, 

Do  what  is  best  for  me. 

Order  an  ambulance  car, 

And  carry  me,  carry  me  on. 


There  is  that  little  oriole 
At  rest  on  the  hillock  grey  ; 
Oh,  but  I  know  no  fear 
Save  that  I  fall  by  the  way. 


There  is  no  rest  for  me, 
None  for  my  tired  feet ; 
Give  me  to  drink  and  eat, 
Do  what  is  best  for  me. 
Order  an  ambulance  car, 
And  carry  me,  carry  me  on. 


THE  HAPPY  MAN 

HE  has  perched  in  the  valley  with  pines  over- 
grown, 

This  fellow  so  stout  and  so  merry  and  free  ; 
He  sleeps  and  he  talks  and  he  wanders  alone, 
And  none  are  so  true  to  their  pleasures  as  he. 

He  has  builded  his  hut  in  the  bend  of  the  mound, 
This  fellow  so  fine  with  his  satisfied  air  ; 
He  wakes  and  he  sings  with  no  neighbour  around, 
And  whatever  betide  him  his  home  will  be  there. 

He  dwells  on  a  height  amid  cloudland  and  rain, 
This  fellow  so  grand  whom  the  world  blunders  by  ; 
He  slumbers  alone,  wakes,  and  slumbers  again, 
And  his  secrets  are  safe  in  that  valley  of  Wei. 


33 


THE  PEAR-TREE 

r  I  AHIS  shade-bestowing  pear-tree,  thou 
JL       Hurt  not,  nor  lay  its  leafage  low  ; 
Beneath  it  slept  the  Duke  of  Shaou. 

This  shade-bestowing  pear-tree,  thou 
Hurt  not,  nor  break  one  leafy  bough  ; 
Beneath  it  stayed  the  Duke  of  Shaou. 

This  shade-bestowing  pear-tree,  thou 
Hurt  not,  nor  bend  one  leafy  bough ; 
Beneath  it  paused  the  Duke  of  Shaou. 


34 


PRINCELY  VISITORS 

WHITE  birds  went  over  the  West — 
Young   egrets,    over    the    marshlands 

flying, 

My  Lords  came  visiting,  ermine-dressed, 
With  the  birds  in  their  elegant  beauty  vieing. 

In  their  States  they  have  high  renown, 
Of  the  city  of  Chow  they  are  never  tiring, 
And  the  rivers  of  night  wind  darkly  down 
Past  the  towers  of  their  fame  still  aspiring. 


THE  NIGHTLONG  TRYST 


DOWN  by  the  eastern  gate 
The  willow  wood's  astir  ; 
From  dusk  to  dawn  I  wait 
Through  the  soundless  hours  for  her, 
Till  the  morning  star  is  shining. 

Down  by  the  eastern  gate 
The  willow-thicket  pales  ; 
From  dusk  to  dawn  I  wait, 
Till  the  last  red  lantern  fails, 
And  the  morning  star  is  shining. 


A  WIFE'S  MEMORIES 

WITH  taper  rod  of  tall  bamboo 
You  angle  in  the  K'e, 
Do  I  not  go  by  dream  to  you 
Who  cannot  come  to  me  ? 

To  left  the  Ts'euen  waters  roam, 
The  K'e  flows  on  to  right, 
Ah  !  never  gleams  the  newer  home 
Like  that  lost  home  to  sight. 

Leftward  the  Ts'euen  stream  beguiles, 
And  rightward  calls  the  K'e, 
Return,  O  light  of  happy  smiles 
And  girdle-gems,  to  me  ! 

The  oars  of  cedar  rise  and  fall 

From  boats  of  yellow  pine, 

Would  I  might  roam  the  banks  where  all 

The  ghosts  of  girlhood  shine  1 


37 


THE  PRINCES 


THEY  gather  the  beans,  gather  the  beans, 
In  their  baskets  square  and  round  : 
The  princes  all  are  coming  to  court, 
And  where  shall  their  gifts  be  found  ? 

The  coaches  of  state  and  their  teams  go  by, 
What  more  for  my  lords  have  I  ? 
Dark  coloured  robes  with  a  dragon  fine, 
And  silken  skirts  with  the  hatchet  sign. 

Clear  bubbles  the  spring,  bubbles  the  spring, 

Around  they  gather  the  cress  : 

The  princes  all  are  coming  to  court, 

Their  banners  the  winds  caress. 

The  dragon  flag  in  the  breezes  swells, 
To  the  hivuy-hwuy  sound  of  the  bells. 

With  two  outside,  the  teams  go  past, 

These  are  the  princes  come  at  last. 

Red  covers  the  knee,  covers  the  knee  : 

Their  buskins  are  red  below. 

Lofty  bearing  and  stately  mien, 

Yonder  my  princes  go. 

In  such  the  Son  of  Heaven  delights, 
The  king  shall  renew  their  rights. 

May  the  pleasure  and  power  for  my  lords  increase, 

May  the  land  yield  corn  and  the  years  bring  peace. 

38 


BLUE  COLLAR 

OYOU  with  the  collar  of  blue, 
My  heart  is  longing  for  you. 
Though  to  call  you  I  am  not  free, 
Wherefore  not  send  to  me  ? 

O  you  with  the  girdle  of  blue, 
Long,  long  do  I  think  of  you. 
Though  to  seek  you  I  am  not  free, 
Wherefore  not  come  to  me? 

Ah,  random  and  pleasure-drawn, 
To  the  View  Tower  you  are  gone  ; 
And  a  day  without  your  sight 
Is  like  three  months  in  its  flight. 


39 


A  FRIEND  FORGOTTEN 

THE  winds  blow  soft  from  the  East, 
But  the  storm  welters  by. 
In  the  day  of  disaster  and  fear, 
It  was  all  you  and  I. 
In  the  hour  of  your  pride 
You  have  cast  me  aside. 

The  bland  winds  blown  from  the  East 

Tornadoes  pursue. 

In  the  hour  of  disaster  and  fear 

More  than  brother  were  you. 

In  the  hour  of  delight 

I  am  cast  from  your  sight. 

The  winds  come  fair  from  the  East : 

On  the  hills  overhead 

There  is  never  a  blade  that  is  green, 

Not  a  leaf  but  is  dead. 

My  worth  you  forget, 

But  my  faults  linger  yet. 


THE  EPHEMERAE 

IN  black  and  yellow  are  clad 
The  wings  of  the  ephemerae  ; 
But  my  heart  is  sad,  is  sad, 
Because  they  will  not  stay  with  me. 

Many  colours  adorn 
The  robes  of  the  ephemerae  ; 
But  my  heart's  forlorn,  forlorn, 
Because  they  will  not  rest  with  me. 

In  robes  of  hempen  snow 

Rise  the  ephemerae ; 

But  my  heart  is  full  of  woe 

Because  they  will  not  bide  with  me. 


HAPPY  IN  HAOU 

FISHES  are  there,  by  the  score,  I  trow, 
Their  large  heads  sleepily  showing  ; 
The  King  is  here,  in  the  city  of  Haou, 
At  ease  while  the  w  ne-cup's  flowing. 

Fishes  are  there  in  the  weeds  enow, 
Their  long  tails  lazily  swaying  ; 
The  King  is  here,  in  the  city  of  Haou, 
Drinking,  dreaming,  delaying. 

The  fish  lie  under  the  willow  bough 
That  leans  and  shadows  the  rushes  ; 
The  King  is  here,  in  the  city  of  Haou, 
At  peace,  and  the  wine-cup  blushes. 


THREE  GIFTS 

A  royal  gourd  was  given  me, 
And  in  exchange  an  emerald  I  gave, 
No  mere  return  for  courtesy, 
But  that  our  friendship  might  outlast  the  grave. 

A  princely  peach  was  given  me, 

And  in  exchange  a  ruby  gem  I  gave, 

No  mere  exchange  for  courtesy, 

But  that  our  friendship  might  outlast  the  grave. 

A  yellow  plum  was  given  me, 

And  in  exchange  a  sardonyx  I  gave, 

No  mere  return  for  courtesy, 

But  that  our  friendship  might  outlast  the  grave. 


43 


BRAVE  THOUGHTS 

REEN  is  the  upper  robe, 

Green  with  a  yellow  lining  ; 
My  sorrow  none  may  probe, 
Nor  can  I  cease  repining. 

Green  is  the  upper  robe, 
The  lower  garb  is  yellow  ; 
My  sorrow  none  may  probe, 
Nor  any  season  mellow. 

The  silk  was  of  emerald  dye, 
Ah  !  this  was  all  your  doing  ; 
But  1  dream  of  an  age  gone  by 
To  keep  my  heart  from  rueing. 

Fine  linen  or  coarse,  'tis  cold, 
But  all  I  have  to  dress  me  ; 
So  I  think  of  the  men  of  old, 
And  find  brave  thoughts  possess  me. 


44 


ON  THE  BANKS  OF  HO 

THE  little  boat  of  cypress  rocks, 
Rocks  in  the  midst  of  Ho  ; 
He  was  my  lord,  whose  long-  dark  locks 
Diviued  in  their  downward  flow. 
Till  death  betide, 
His  bride, 
I'll  wed  no  other. 
O  Heaven  !  O  mother  ! 
Will  you  not  understand  your  child  i 

The  little  boat  of  cypress  rocks 

There  by  the  side  of  Ho  ; 

He  was  my  only  one,  whose  locks 

Divided  in  their  downward  flow. 

Till  death  betide, 

His  bride, 

I'll  wed  no  other. 

O  Heaven  !  O  mother  ! 

Far  from  me  be  the  thing  defiled  ! 

Will  you  not  understand  your  child  ? 


45 


SORROW 


SHE  sought  her  native  land  again. 
The  swallow  takes  its  ragged  flight. 
We  went  together  day  and  night, 
Till  parting  drew  her  from  my  sight 
And  the  tears  fell  down  like  rain. 

She  went  her  native  land  to  seek. 
Now  up,  now  down  the  swallow  flies. 
And  oh  ! — the  last  of  tender  ties, 
The  form  that  fades  from  aching  eyes 
And  the  tears  coursing  down  my  cheek. 

Around,  about  the  swallows  dar 
She  fared  into  a  far  countree, 
And  when  I  vainly  sought  to  see 
The  empty  landscape  mocked  at  me, 
And  great  grief  settled  on  my  heart 


46 


BULWARKS   OF  EMPIRE 


OOD  men  are  bulwarks ;  while  the  multitudes 
Are  walls  that   ring  the  land;  great  states  are 

screens ; 

Each  family  a  buttress  ;  the  pursuit 
Of  righteousness  secures  repose  ;  like  towers 
Of  strong  defence  the  royal  kinsmen  stand 
Immune  from  peril.     May  they  still  remain 
Nor  leave  the  king,  a  lonely  citadel 
Abandoned  to  his  enemies. 

Give  heed 

Unto  the  wrath  of  Heaven  !  nor  presume 
To  idle ;  but  revere  the  Heavenly  moods, 
Ephemeral  though  they  seem.     Be  not  of  those 
That  roam  at  random.     Heaven  understands 
And  doth  companion  all  the  ways  we  go, 
And  seeth  all  things  clearly.  .  .  . 


47 


THE  BRIDE   COMETH 


HE  turtle-dove  dwells  in  the  magpies  nest. 
One  cometh  as  a  bride  to  be  caressed  ; 
A  hundred  carriages  have  gone  in  quest. 

The  magpie's  home  the  young  dove  hath  possessed. 

This  lady  cometh  as  a  life-long  guest ; 

A  hundred  chariots  on  the  road  have  pressed. 

The  turtle-dove  shall  fill  the  magpie's  nest. 
She  travels  far  from  home  to  love  and  rest ; 
A  hundred  carriages  her  rank  attest. 


48 


BEFORE  THE  fORD 


IF  your  heart  be  kind  and  true, 
I  will  ford  the  stream  with  you. 
If  your  fickle  thoughts  go  straying, 
Come  with  me  no  more  a-maying. 
Oh,  you  silly,  silly  swain ! 
Better  men  than  you  remain. 

If  you  love  me,  dear  my  lord, 

Bid  me  and  I'll  cross  the  ford. 

Should  your  roving  thoughts  forsake  me, 

Thoughts  more  kind  will  captive  make  me, 

Oh,  you  silly,  silly  swain  ! 

Better  men  than  you  remain. 


49 


GOOD  KING    WU 


IN  the  city  of  Haou  he  built  his  hall, 
With  circling  waters  round  the  wall : 
From  north  to  south,  from  east  to  west 
There  was  never  a  tongue  but  called  him  blest 
Great  King  Wu  was  a  monarch  true. 

With  divination  deep,  I  trow, 
Afar  he  sought  the  sight  of  Haou. 
With  tortoise-shell  the  site  he  chose, 
And  tier  by  tier  the  city  rose. 
Great  King  Wu  was  a  monarch  true. 

By  the  waters  of  Fung  white  millet  grew. 
Statesmen  wise  were  the  choice  of  Wu, 
The  future  reaped  whate'er  he  planned ; 
His  son  was  lord  of  a  grateful  land. 
Good  King  Wu  was  a  monarch  true. 


FAINT  HEART 


I  PRAY  you,  dear, 
My  little  hamlet  leave, 
Nor  break  my  willow-boughs ; 
'Tis  not  that  I  should  grieve, 
But  I  fear  my  sire  to  rouse. 
Love  pleads  with  passion  disarrayed, — 
"  A  sire's  commands  must  be  obeyed." 

I  pray  you,  dear, 

Leap  not  across  my  wall, 

Nor  break  my  mulberry -boughs ; 

Not  that  I  fear  their  fall, 

But,  lest  my  brother's  wrath  should  rouse, 

Love  pleads  with  passion  disarrayed, — 

"A  brother's  words  must  be  obeyed." 

I  pray  you,  dear, 

Steal  not  my  garden  down, 

Nor  break  my  sandal-trees  ; 

Not  that  I  care  for  these, 

But,  oh  !  I  dread  the  talk  of  town. 

Should  lovers  have  their  wilful  way, 

Whatever  would  the  neighbours  say  ? 


WITHOUT  HER 


THE  moon  comes  forth  in  her  brightness ; 
Fair  as  the  moon  was  she, 
That  bright  and  beautiful  lady 
Who  lit  the  night  for  me. 
Would  that  I  saw  her  now, 
With  the  stars  around  her  brow. 

The  moon  comes  forth  in  her  splendour  ; 

Fair  through  the  void  she  burns, 

That  pale  and  beautiful  lady, 

My  moon,  no  more  returns ; 

But  under  the  alien  skies 

She  shines  in  a  stranger's  eyes. 

The  moon  comes  forth  in  her  glory ; 
Kind  to  the  world  is  she. 
That  kind  and  beautiful  lady, 
Doth  charm  no  night  for  me. 
Oh,  when  the  dawn-star  wanes 
For  the  sun  to  rend  my  chains  1 


THE  FOREST  LOVER 


JfEEN-KWAN  the  axles  cried, 
•**-       As  I  drove  to  claim  my  bride. 
Hunger  for  her  beauty  presses, 
I  am  parched  for  her  caresses ; 
Though  we  lack  good  company, 
We  shall  revel — I  and  she. 

Dense  the  forest  in  the  plain, 
Where  the  long-tailed  pheasants  reign ; 
Happy  is  the  house  that  owns  her, 
Where  a  lover's  choice  enthrones  her. 
Pledge  me  while  I  praise  you,  dear  ! 
Love  shall  ever  need  you  near. 

Though  I  have  but  little  wine, 
Love  makes  little  cups  divine. 
Though  but  one  poor  meal  await  us, 
Simple  fare  shall  amply  sate  us ; 
Though  small  worth  is  mine  to  bring, 
Gaily  we  will  dance  and  sing. 

Yon  tall  ridges  I  ascend 

And  the  stubborn  firewood  rend. 

When  the  riven  oaks  are  ringing 

All  my  thoughts  fly  homeward  winging; 

Though  their  green  abysses  hide, 

My  whole  heart  is  satisfied. 

53 


Yon  dim  mountains  disappear, 
On  the  road  the  course  is  clear. 
Gathering  hooves  go  loudly  drumming, 
Reins  like  lute-strings  join  their  thrumming  ; 
Till  beside  the  open  door, 
She  is  in  my  arms  once  more. 


54 


THE  HOUSEHOLDERS  LAM  Em 


*  I  "*HE  marshland  holds  the  carambola  tree; 

J.        Soft  and  pliant  its  branches  be. 
With  its  careless  beauty  and  tender  sheen, 
The  life  of  a  tree  is  the  life  for  me. 

The  marshland  rears  the  carambola  tree ; 
All  purple  and  red  its  blossoms  be. 
In  careless  beauty  and  tender  sheen, 
Would  I  were  childless  and  bland  like  thee. 

The  marshland  loves  the  carambola  tree ; 
Soft  and  sweet  are  the  fruits  I  see. 
Clothed  with  beauty  and  sunlit  sheen, 
The  rateless  and  roofless  life  for  me. 


55 


UNA  VAILING 


HE  stabs  me  with  a  scornful  smile. 
Winds  are  wailing  at  the  door. 
Scornful  words  and  whispers  vile, 
Ye  have  thrust  me  to  the  core. 

Whirling  dust  the  northwind  blows. 
Surely  he  will  seek  his  mate  ! 
But  he  neither  comes  nor  goes, 
Through  the  long  dumb  hours  that  wait. 

Blew  the  wind  and  veiled  the  sky ; 
One  hour's  gleam,  then  clouds  again. 
Sleep  went  trailing  softly  by, 
Left  me  to  the  old  dull  pain. 

Clouds  across  the  darkness  sweep, 
Thunder  rolls  its  monotone. 
Who  shall  put  my  heart  to  sleep  ? 
Heart  that  aches,  and  aches  alone. 


GREY  DAWNS  AND  RED 


COLD  is  the  rain  and  cold  the  wind, 
The  cock  gives  dawn  shrill  greeting  ; 
But  a  shadow  steals  across  the  blind, 
And  oh  !  my  heart  is  beating. 

The  rain  drives  down,  the  wind  tears  past, 
The  cock  shrills  through  the  gloaming ; 

But  love  is  in  the  house  at  last, 
And  sorrow  flies  his  homing. 

Though  the  world  look  dark  through  wind  and 
rain, 

And  the  dismal  cock's  a-crowing  ; 
I'll  sigh  no  more  for  the  nights  to  wane, 

And  its  oh  J  for  the  red  dawn's  glowing. 


Printed  by  Hazcll,  Watson  &  Viney,  Ld.,  London  and  Aylesbury 


CENTRAL  UNIVERSITY  LIBRARY 

University  of  California,  San  Diego 

DATE  DUE 


,.     K          .      |            ,1^ 

MAR  2  0  1987 

JMKKOW. 

a  39 

UCSD  Libr. 

•-. 


